Søvn, lillebror
by ReyjavikBondivik
Summary: Depressed Iceland is Depressed. Depression and cutting, so take caution.
1. chapter 1

Emil wasn't sure what had gone wrong. How he somehow managed to find himself in this situation. Maybe it was just stress. Yea, that's right. It's just stress. Give it a few more minutes, and he'd be back to normal. But, he didn't really have a few minutes. Him and the Nordics were planning on leaving early for a meeting they had in Tallinn. And even if he was confused about his current situation, he knew for certain he wasn't going to let one of the others see him like this. So ungraded and vulnerable. So weak. His nails dug into the wood of the dresser.

"Hætta það, þú hálfviti. þetta er heimskur. stöðva það*." He growled to himself, glaring at the red-eyed Icelander in the mirror. His face was red, his eyes bloodshot and puffy. He looked as weak as he felt. Trembling, a fist fell against the mirror. He didn't yell out as shards of glass punctured his skin, smaller fragments littering the untidy room. He watched, mesmerized, as a trail of merlot blood trickled down his forearm. Already the wounds had started to heal. He found a nauseating feeling grow in the pit of his stomach. He fought against himself as he stared down at the glass that littered the floor. He knew he couldn't kill himself. Most nations realized that fact quite early on. It took a lot to kill a nation. Even the ancient nations didn't really die, they just...faded away. They knew they were no longer needed, or that the times had changed against them. And for those like Prussia, mere memory kept them from disappearing. This made him angry. Why should they have to suffer through centuries of war and greed and hatred? What God did they anger? He never asked for this. To exist. To be apart of this damned world. Why couldn't it have been somebody else? Anybody else. Anyone but him. This was all ridiculous. Every part of their forsaken existence. It's was ridiculous. They were all blind. They went on like nothing was wrong. Like their existence was normal. But they were far from normal. His wounds were now almost completely gone. Yet, blood still trickled down his arm. The color was sickly. It made him ill. He always hated blood. He saw more than enough of it when he was younger. The urge to stoop down and retrieve a larger shard kept pestering him. But what good would it do? How would any of this help him? He wanted to scream, and kick, and cry. But the others weren't too far away. Packing in their own rooms, going about like everything was okay. But it was far from okay. Nothing was okay anymore. Knuckles rapped against his locked door.

"Island, hurry up. We have to leave soon," Why? The meetings are pointless. Nothing ever happens. Couldn't he just stay here until he finally disappeared? He didn't respond to his elder brother. Instead, he let himself fall to the ground, sitting amongst the broken shards of glass. "Island?" The Icelander had taken interest in a rather large shard, spinning it between his fingers as light reflected of its crystal surface. It was almost perfectly diamond shaped. But the jagged edges were prominent, ruining something that could have been beautiful. He let one of its points run against his palm. Blood slowly erupted from his palm. Almost like a volcano. Almost pretty. He continued to drag its harsh edge against his skin. He had gone numb to the almost panicked calls from the others. Why were they so worried? He's not someone one should waste their energy on. A crack sounded through the room, like wood splintering under a large weight. Panic swelled as he realized Denmark had begun his attempt at knocking down the door. The shard slipped from his grip and he began to push the large shards of glass out of sight. He could lie. Say his mirror broke and he'd cut himself trying to clean it up. They'd believe a story like that, right? He found his vision blurring from tears once more. Trembling with anxiety, he tried to beat the Dane and clean up any evidence before the door came crashing open. But his trembling hands kept dropping the glass, and his blurred vision made it difficult to collect them. Idiot. Idiot. You're so stupid. Now they're going to ask questions and you'll never see the light of day. You worthless- The door had finally given way. Why didn't he just hide? He could have jumped from his window. A broken ankle sounded much more appealing than being confronted by his brothers.

"Iceland!" Panic was evident in his brother's voice. He had worried Norway to the point where his guard was let down. He had hurt his older brother. He was a bastard. A selfish, worthless bastard. He found Norway pulling him against him, prying the shards of glass from him with trembling hands. He kept mumbling in Norwegian. Emil was too exhausted to wrap his mind around the familiar words. The only thing that registered in his mind was his brother saying his name over and over again. He couldn't speak. It hurt too much to try, and every time he thought to speak up Norway would just hush him. He could see Denmark, Sweden, and Finland in the doorway. The trio seemed paralyzed. Their shock made him angry. His brother's worry made him angry. The soft Norwegian words of comfort that his brother couldn't seem to stop made him angry. The Icelander weakly tried to push Norway back. He simply held tighter, his face burying into Iceland's shoulder. He hated how stubborn his brother was. He hated how he hid his emotions, and insisted that he baby him. He hated that he was doing it now, and that he couldn't do nothing about it. All he could do was cry like some child.

"Skildu mig eftir*." The words burned his throat, scraping like knives. The pain brought a feeling of comfort. Maybe if he yelled he would feel better. But he couldn't seem to make his voice work. Denmark had joined them now. He was crying, mumbling in Danish as he cradled the brothers. Norway didn't push him away. Iceland wanted him to though. He had no right. Lukas was his brother. It didn't matter if the Dane had been with him longer. He had no right. But Denmark was crying. The rare act brought a deep feeling of guilt. Not only had he hurt his brother, he had pushed Denmark to tears, too. Iceland tightly gripped the Dane's shirt. Eventually, the five sat on the ground, each trying to comfort another. Emil had caused this. He had hurt his family. His sobs grew louder. He wasn't sure whether he was clinging onto Berwald or Mathias, or if it was Lukas' lap he was in or Tino's. It didn't really matter. He had to fix what he had done. "Mér þykir það leitt. Mér þykir það leitt*…." He continued to mumble out apologies. But each time he did, someone would tell him he had nothing to be sorry for, that they were the ones that should be sorry. Emil found himself growing more exhausted, his eyelids becoming more and more heavy. He began to panic. He couldn't sleep now. He knew he'd find himself alone when he woke up. He couldn't be alone. He was tired of being alone. It scared him. "Ég elska þig. Ég elska þig*. Don't…..please don't leave me." Norway hugged him tightly, kissing his brother's forehead. "I promise we won't. I promise I'll be here when you wake up. Søvn, lillebror*." Guilt and anxiety still overwhelming his system, Emil drifted off to sleep.

Hætta það, þú hálfviti. þetta er heimskur. stöðva það-stop ut, You idiot. This is stupid. Stop it.

Skildu mig eftir-Leave me alone.

Mér þykir það leitt. Mér þykir það leitt-I'm sorry. I'm sorry.

Ég elska þig. Ég elska þig-I love you. I love you.

Søvn, lillebror-Sleep, little brother.


	2. Licorice Tea

A/N: To camry72. I wasn't going to continue it...but I think it's better if I do.\\\

The first thing Emil noticed when he woke up, even before he realized he had been moved to another room, was the fact that Norway was nowhere to be seen. Instantly, he began to panic. He couldn't seem to breath properly. Lukas had left him again. He had lied to him. Just as Emil started to move from the bed, the door opened. Emil froze, the only movement made was the trembling of his body.

"You're alright. I was just with the others. I haven't been gone for five minutes," His voice was soft, the way it was when he was younger. The way you'd speak to a frightened child. The tone brought comfort. "You should rest more. I won't-" He fell short as Iceland began to shake his head. He didn't want to have to argue with Emil. Not after what had happened just hours before. "We could go down and sit with the others?" Emil simply nodded his head. Norway extended his hand to his younger brother. Emil didn't hesitate when taking his brother's hand. They made their way out of Lukas' bedroom and downstairs in silence. In the den, the others sat quietly. Finland was chatting on the phone, probably explaining to Estonia that they wouldn't be able to make it to the meeting. Idiot. Why'd you have to go and have a breakdown right before a meeting? Emil attempted to ignore the nagging voice. The brothers joined Denmark on the sofa. The Dane had his face in his hands, barely moving at all.

"How is he?" Denmark questioned sensing the movement of the cushions. Lukas looked at Emil, who sat silently between them.

"Why don't you ask him yourself?" He lifted his face from his hands, confused. Emotion flashed through his cerulean eyes.

"I-ice." He continued to stare blankly ahead.

"I'm fine. I'm…sorry." Emil wouldn't meet his eyes, no matter how stubbornly Mathias persisted. He pulled his knees against his chest, letting his chin rest against his knee. Emil wasn't sure why he'd come down here. He didn't want anyone to ask questions, so why did he choose to be around them? He just...he didn't want to be alone. Locked in a dark room. With...so many sharp objects. He knew Norway had things from back then. Important daggers that he kept locked away. He began to tremble again. Cautiously, Norway pulled his brother against him. He was scared. But he knew Iceland was scared too. He needed comfort. To know that he was safe. Emil buried his face into Norway's shirt, allowing the Norwegian to comb his fingers through his hair.

"Do you...should I...you hungry, Ice?" Again, he refused to speak. He was scared if he opened his mouth, he'd just start crying again. The Icelander nodded. The Dane let a hand rest on Emil's shoulder before raising. "Mind helping, Fin?" No spoken response was made, but Emil heard as two sets of feet departed into the kitchen. Norway continued to baby his brother, Sweden watching them intently from across the room. No one spoke up. Everything seemed as fragile as glass. As if the slightest tap could break the home down into millions of tiny shards. Lying in Norway's lap, time seemed like a foreign concept. Emil couldn't tell if only minutes had gone by, or if it had been years. Time seemed to go faster, yet slower at the same time. Emil closed his eyes for only a second, yet when he opened them Denmark and Finland had reappeared. The home smelled of butter. Of course. He tried to sit upright, only to fail and need the help of Lukas. God, you can't even sit up by yourself now? You weak, worthless-

"Butter cookies!" Right under his nose, Denmark held a plate of still warm butter cookies. Tentatively, Emil took one. Almost instantly, the plate was replaced with a cup of-he took the tea from the Dane, abandoning the cookie in his lap. The strong aroma of the brew calmed him, warming his insides even though he had yet to take a sip. Denmark chuckled lowly, ruffling Emil hair before taking his seat next to him. Wordlessly, Emil sipped at the licorice tea.


	3. Brother

An hour of uninterrupted silence had passed. No one knew what to say. It had been a long time since something like this had happened to one of them. During a time where Iceland was still young. Things like this...a nation pushed to the brink of suicide...it carried a heavy weight held by those that were affected. Despite how hard it was to kill a nation, despite that they knew they would fail...it was more common than any of the Nordics cared to think.

"You're not... you're not going to tell anyone, right?" Emil finally spoke up.

"Of course not. This...this is our…" Lukas didn't know what to call it without sounding horrible. It wasn't a mistake. Nor was it really an issue. It was more of a-

"Problem?" Emil grimly offered.

"You're not a problem," Emil simply hummed, looking away from his brother. "You're my brother. Your struggles are mine. We aren't just going to let you go through this alone." His voice held an insistent hostility. How could his baby brother think he was a problem? There wasn't anyone he cared for more. They'd gotten through wars together, what was one more? No matter what it took, even if it killed him, Lukas was determined to make Emil happy again. Emil folds his arms over his chest, looking away.

"I'd be worried if you didn't. You never leave me alone." Lukas was confused. One moment, Emil was refusing to leave his side. And suddenly he was saying he wanted to be left alone. Lukas simply sighed. He wasn't sure what to do. How to make things easier for his brother. So he complied with his wishes, giving the Icelander his space. Minutes passed in silence. Suddenly, Emil had let out a frustrated growl, roughly biting his face in Lukas' lap. Emil clung onto him desperately. He was trembling worse than earlier. Once more, Lukas ran his fingers through Emil's hair.

"I know you want to be more independent. But there are some things you can't fight alone. That's why we're here. You're not a burden. You aren't bothering anyone by wanting help. Or someone there." Emil curled his fingers into the Norwegian's clothes. He wanted to cry again. To just scream until he passed out. But that would show weakness. He wasn't going to let anymore show. He could handle this on his own. He wasn't going to let himself become more of a burden than he already knew he was.


	4. One Rope

A week had passed. Emil tried to act as if things were normal. As if he hadn't broken-down. Yet, he found himself unable to sleep alone. And even with Norway or Denmark beside him, he still slept fitfully. He had taken to avoiding knives, as he'd find himself growing anxious near them. Even with the extra precautions taken, voices kept howling in his mind. Telling him there was no point going on like this. That quitting would make things so much easier on everyone. One rope. One bullet. A few pills. That's all it would take. He'd no longer be a burden. He'd simply become a wisp of memory. Slowly fading from his brothers' minds as time went on. Becoming something like Germania..or Rome. Something only heard of in history books. Someone only remembered by those who actually cared. But he wasn't Rome. He wasn't some important empire that dictated how humanity would change. He was just a tiny island. Nothing more than a volcanic rock that had managed to become covered with life.

"Emil?" Tino's voice pulled him away from the intruding thoughts. The Fin was clearly worried. He wasn't afraid to show that he was, even if there was no reason for him to be. He was fine.

"I'm fine." He mumbled.

"If there are things you need to say...things you can't tell Norw-"

"I'm fine." Tino sighed. He didn't want to press. He knew he wasn't very close with Iceland. But they were family nonetheless. And if there was anything he could do to ease Iceland's pain, he'd jump on the opportunity. But none of them understood what he was going through. Yes, they all had their rough patches; but, none of them had really be so-except him. Without an explanation, Finland rose from his spot and rushed out of the room.


	5. One Bullet

"Please." Tino begged.

"Not very good with words." The Swede defended.

"You don't need to. You just need to show that you understand. I wouldn't be asking this if I didn't have to. What if...what if…" Finland couldn't finish the sentence. Sweden understood. And though Finland was the only one that knew of his troubles, Iceland was more important.

"I'll talk t' 'im." He rose from his seat, wearily returning Tino's smile. He had never mentioned what he tried to do to Norway or Denmark. He felt it didn't matter. And he knew Iceland was going through the same thing. That if Norway didn't go to check on him, the others wouldn't know. That Berwald wouldn't know he needed his help. Berwald took in a deep breath before entering into the den. Emil was staring blankly at the ceiling. Sweden took the seat next to him.

"Finland sent-"

"I understand what y'r goin' through. Y' feel alone, yet when people try t' comfort y', y' just want them t' go away. Y' feel like y' don't matter. Went... I went through th' same thing. Y' were little. Denmark and Norway don't know. Y' think it'll just go away. Things like that stick with y' f'r centuries." Emil couldn't look at the Swede. Berwald was opening up to him, trying to help him. And Emil had nothing to say. He didn't plan on having to think about it for centuries. He didn't plan on thinking about it next week. His fingers dug into the cushions beneath him.

"I'm sorry." That was all he could manage. Because he was. He was sorry for existing. Sorry for making them care so much about him. Sorry that by tomorrow evening...he hoped he'd be gone. He knew the damage it would cause. He knew he'd hurt Norway. And Denmark. But he couldn't take it anymore. Simply existing was painful. So why not just end it all? One rope. One bullet. A few pills. That's all it would take. And then it'd finally be over. He wouldn't have to hurt anymore.


	6. A Few Pills

Emil spoke nothing all morning. Though, the four could sense something was off. He'd become more affectionate. More clingy. It seemed every hour he'd latched himself onto one of the others. He didn't respond when they asked questions. He was scared to talk. Scared that if he spoke, he'd give away his plans. And everything would be ruined. The pain would worsen. He'd be forced to keep going on. He just wanted it to stop. The pain. The worry. The sickening feeling and the thoughts that wouldn't leave him alone. He just wanted it to stop. He sat curled in Norway's lap, face buried in Norway's chest as he fought back the urge to cry. A few more hours. That's all he had to endure. Then it'd be over. He'd finally get to rest. He held on tighter to Norway. He just wanted to spend time with his brother before he had to go. He had done so many things to hurt Lukas. When all he did was showed that he cared. He didn't know how much longer he could hold himself together. He could feel Norway's heartbeat. He could hear it racing. Beating rhythmically. Calming him. This was the last thing he wanted to hear before he was gone. Just Norway's steady heart beat. That melody that reminded him his brother would live. Norway was all he ever had. All that was good to him. He was the only thing that kept him from doing what he had to do. He was going to hurt his brother. But he hoped Norway would know there wasn't anyway out. That this had to happen. Only one rope. One bullet. A few pills. That's all it'd take.


	7. That's all it'd take

Emil didn't know it'd be this difficult. That his body would fight back. He was growing frustrated. Denmark and Norway would only be gone for so loud. And he had to keep quiet. He couldn't alert Berwald and Tino of what was happening above them. His shaking hands wouldn't cooperate. He had remembered how to tie a noose from the days when criminals would be hung. But his hands. His hands. His hands. They wouldn't do what they were supposed to do. But he wouldn't be fought off by a few knots. He was stronger than that. Climbing onto a wobbly chair, Emil attempted to hand the rope. After a short struggle, he had managed to get the rope to cooperate. He climbed down from the chair to write his final goodbye. Once more, his trembling hands proves to be more of a challenge than he thought. He wasn't sure how long it took. But finally. Finally. He could rest. He climbed onto the rickety wooden chair.


	8. Gone

Norway couldn't breathe. He forgotten how. Everything. Everything seemed to be spinning. It was just his mind. He...he was seeing things again. Iceland wasn't…Emil couldn't….A sorrow filled wail left the usually quiet Norwegian. He found himself on the ground. How did he get on the ground? He tried to stand. He couldn't. He couldn't stand. He barely registered the sound of feet running. Then Denmark was there. He was stronger than Norway. He raced to where Emil hung, taking the noose from around his neck and cradling the lifeless boy in his arms. He kept shaking him. Trying to rouse him. But Emil laid limp in Mathias' arms. He was screaming now. Yelling at the boy. He was much paler than normal. But there had to be a chance. He couldn't be dead. He had to live. Shaking, Denmark laid him on Norway's bed. He let his hands rest on his chest. One. Two. Three. Breathe. One. Two. Three. Breathe. One. Two. Three. He was gone. Emil...he was….Denmark let out a roar. His fist went straight through the wall. The pain didn't register at all. Finland and Sweden stood just outside the door. They were home. They could have done something. Anything. Finally, Norway seemed to be able to walk once more. He staggered to his feet, shoving past Finland and Sweden. He made his way to Emil's side.

"Island. Island, Våkn opp. kom tilbake," Lukas' kept shaking his brother. His lavender eyes seemed to stare back. Yet they lacked the luster they once held. "Island!" There had to be an explanation. A reason for why he'd just leave them. Desperately, Norway began to search the room. Carelessly, he shoved books from their shelves, letting papers flying across the room. A small note laid tucked between the pages of Norway's spellbook.

To my brothers,

I'm sorry I had to leave you. But I was no longer needed. The world did not care for the tiny island that I had called my home. I could no longer live knowing that worry was being wasted. That I would only cause pain and strife the longer I continued. I hope you understand that I had to do this, and that it wasn't your fault. I was simply too weak to withstand the changing of time. But, my brothers, I know you are much stronger. Please carry on. The thought that I am hurting you, for the selfish reasoning of saving myself...please, keep living. Lukas, Stór Bróðir minn, I am sorry. I was not as good a brother as I should have been. And I hope you know that you were my world. ég elska þig. Denmark...Mathias, please...take care of my big brother. Keep smiling. And laughing. Keep fighting. Do not let the loss of one soul hold you back. Sweden. Berwald. I am sorry I couldn't be as strong as you. I'm sorry I couldn't keep going. I'm sorry that we weren't as close as we should have been. Finland. Tino. I'm sorry for any heart ache or worry I've caused you. You are stronger than any of us. You have been through more than any of us could ever imagine. Keep fighting, big brother. I truly love all of you. I'm sorry.

We will meet again in the golden halls, my brothers,

Emil Steilsson, the nation of Iceland.


End file.
